Breen and Nielsen stared at him. The trio passed out into the street.
“Where shall we go?” Breen questioned.
“Let’s bum a while in my room,” Nielsen proposed.
“I can’t,” Carstairs declined.
“Why not, John?”
“I want to work a little,” Carstairs explained.
Breen and Nielsen stared at him again.
Somewhat later, the painter and the writer were comfortably seated in the latter’s comfortable workshop.
“I guess so, but I hope it isn’t true,” Nielsen was saying.
“Oh, he’ll get over it. These attachments of his are never serious nor of long duration. And at best, she’s only a hardened little thing, a fact he’ll realize in good season.”